


Wronged the Tides

by ThornsOfWinter (SeedsOfWinter)



Series: A Small Demons AU [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Asexuality Spectrum, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Demiromantic, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Macro/Micro, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), Size Difference, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Unicorns, can be read as asexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeedsOfWinter/pseuds/ThornsOfWinter
Summary: In a universe where demons are quite tiny, adorable even, they can still have big opinions. When Crawley finds Aziraphale watching animals marching two by two onto a big boat, the little demon has some important questions...[Can be read as stand-alone.]After the sky had cried its eyes out and got around to the part where it insisted it was fine, no need for a tissue thank you, the Garden’s remaining days were not many. The Almighty was closing up shop. You didn’t have to go home, but you couldn’t stay there.When word reached Crawley, trickled down from the curving leaves of the bush they had curled beneath for a nice nap--something the demon had just invented and was very certain would catch on with the right audience--they made sure to check on the strangely kind angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Small Demons AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792909
Comments: 25
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What if smol Crowley/regular Aziraphale? Rating for complex moral themes. 
> 
> (This is an AU of an AU that is most certainly not acceptable for most audiences. I name-dropped that original fic in the comments of "Drained the Colour From My Wings" and I thank you to go look it up there. )

After the sky had cried its eyes out and got around to the part where it insisted it was fine, no need for a tissue thank you, the Garden’s remaining days were not many. The Almighty was closing up shop. You didn’t have to go home, but you couldn’t stay there.

When word reached Crawley, trickled down from the curving leaves of the bush they had curled beneath for a nice nap--something the demon had just invented and was very certain would catch on with the right audience--they made sure to check on the strangely kind angel.

Yes, Aziraphale knew about the going out of business sign. They were packing up, gathering stones to block off the Eastern gate; don’t forget to turn to the lights off before locking the door. What a bill that would be!

When Crawley commented that it wasn’t much of a gate and more of an inexpertly carved hole in the wall that Aziraphale had been guarding, the angel told them to make themself useful then stopped talking to the demon for several hours.

Crawley didn’t know what would become of the Garden, but took no chances. They ran as fast as their long little legs would carry them to a nearby stash of goodies. Initially meant as intel to be brought back and reported to Hell, Crawley decided then they were better off not mentioning any of the amazing foods and insects and rocks they’d found. Something told them that there were better opportunities ahead if they stayed on Earth. And certainly there’d be no chance of conversating with that angel again if they got stuck filing paperwork.

So they tied a seed or two each of only their most favorite fruits into the weave of their disheveled robe--taking extra care with those from Eve’s discarded apple core--and slipped out the so-called Eastern Gate before its guardian could say otherwise.

The demon had hoped that they would see Aziraphale again some time under more favorable conditions, ones with distance and time between what each of them had done for the Almighty’s favorite children.

And, after a commendation to the demon and a demotion to the angel, they did see each other. Quite a bit, in fact. Once every couple years or so, Crawley caught sight of a tuft of white-gold hair, anomalous in a sea of brilliant browns and gorgeous blacks and occasional auburns, though none as fiery as their own red coils. Sometimes they approached the angel. Sometimes they left him to his holy duties. Once in a while, Aziraphale approached first.

They never conversed long, but Crawley looked forward to each new meeting. In a world ever-changing, the faces always new, Aziraphale grew familiar and safe.

As safe as an angelic being could get, at least.

When Crawley spotted Aziraphale at the head of a large crowd gathered by a fence overlooking the local man Noah’s big art project, they were the one to do the approaching. It had been a solid millennia since they’d sat watching the humans leave the Garden. But seeing Aziraphale always felt like new. Each meeting, the angel was adorable, as if even the passage of time could never wash away his radiance.

Crawley slipped serpent-like through the crowd’s shuffling feet with practiced ease, yellow eyes bright with delight at having found the angel once more. Their own private game of hide and seek.

The demon slunk up to one ankle, gave a sharp tap-- _Tag! You’re it!_ \--and circled around to the angel’s other side. The pair of long braids that some local kids had plaited into their hair whipped with the motion. Children were always fun to reveal their existence to, much more understanding and less likely to swat them with whatever was in reach than their adult guardians.

Aziraphale’s head turned and glanced down at the tap on his right as Crawley sang up at him from his left, “Hallo, Aziraphale!”

The angel startled, turned again, saw the demon and flashed a tight smile. “Ah. Crawley,” he said in greeting.

They shifted form when the angel bent and slithered up the offered hand, cool scales against warm bare skin, until they reached their angel’s shoulders. Coiled loosely around his neck, Crawley revelled in the close contact only a moment longer than they should have before asking, “What’s all this then? Build a big boat; fill it with a travelling zoo?”

They knew the gist of it from the children, but if Aziraphale was there, then something more was going on. Something, dare they say, _Heavenly_.

“From what I hear,” Aziraphale said, voice low, “God’s a bit tetchy.”

“Tetchy? The Almighty? Tell me something new, angel.”

“Wiping out the human race,” he continued. “Big storm.”

Crawley had had mixed opinions on rain since the Beginning. On the one hand, they always thought of Aziraphale. On the other, they never knew what the Almighty was up to with the weather. Water helped the seeds Crawley planted wherever they went, sure, but even many of the humans seemed of two minds regarding _rain good_ or _rain bad_. It had a lot to do with factors beyond the demon’s purview.

If anyone was left around to categorize it as such, they hazarded that this storm would fall into the category of _rain very bad_. 

The demon’s heart fluttered as they observed the throng of people from around an angel’s neck. Adults and children, none the wiser, gathered to watch the strange parade. What had any of them done to deserve annihilation? At least demons Fell, not that Crawley would give a starred review to the whole process.

Was the human experiment over, then? Wipe them out, start fresh on something else? What sort of Plan was that? And if they were there to see this boat being filled and hear about it from Aziraphale, what could the Almighty be trying to say about Crawley’s part in the play?

Their tail slid between the dangling leather drawstrings of the angel’s tunic, wrapping tight against the golden beads for lack of anything else to strangle.

They squeaked, “ _All_ of them?”

Aziraphale pondered a moment before answering, “Just the locals actually. I don’t believe the Almighty’s upset with _the Chinese_.”

The snake visibly relaxed its coils ever so slightly.

“Or the Native Americans.”

Crawley argued, “You know they don’t call themselves that.”

Aziraphale sent a quiet look of judgment at the little snake using him as a perch before adding, acquiescent, “Or the Australian First Peoples.”

“Wonder how long they’re reprieved from holy wroth.” A tongue darted at the angel’s ear for punctuation.

Aziraphale sighed, the noise strained. “And God’s not actually going to wipe out _all_ the locals. Noah up there? His family? They’re all going to be fine.”

An old married couple and three young ones. That was all that would remain of the Mesopotamian valley, their culture, their stories and traditions.

Crawley tensed again. “Well, but They’re _drowning_ everybody else?”

“Mm-hmm,” Aziraphale said tightly, lips pinched as he nodded slowly. His riverbed blue eyes stared ahead as though, to look anywhere else, he might rattle apart.

The demon shimmied up the back of the angel’s neck and peered at a group of children laughing and running alongside the caravan of critters.

“Not the kids!” Crawley cried, as the angel gently extricated them from his curls, “You can’t kill kids.”

Aziraphale kept nodding in a way that told Crawley just how much he didn’t agree with any of it.

The demon hung their head and whispered, “That’s the sort of thing you’d expect my lot to do…”

“You can’t judge the Almighty, Crawley.”

“Oh? They going to send me to Hell again for it?”

“God’s plans are--”

“You say _ineffable_ and I’m about to slither over and bite Noah.”

Aziraphale’s mouth hung wide.

They hissed. “You know I’m not poisonous.”

“I should think that beside the point.”

Crawley made a disgusted sound and angled for the sturdy fence penning off the rubberneckers from _the Lord’s work_.

They were repulsed. It was abhorrent. In fact, the demon didn’t think there was a word strong enough for the whole affair. Just when they thought they didn’t have any faith left to shatter, the Almighty went and asked the Morningstar to hold their beer!

Crawley spat and sneered as they skulked off, wishing they were a cat so they might better show their indignation.

Aziraphale leaned over the fence. “Where are you headed now?”

“Away from all this!”

“Back, uh, Downstairs then?”

“Why? Your people are meting out despair and misery aplenty.” Hell would want to know about the storm, too, and that was exactly reason enough not to check in. As they wriggled past the procession headed to the luxury land-liner, Crawley’s presence startled the representatives from the onagers and the mallards. They dodged clattering hooves and webbed feet, snipping, “Watch it!”

Noah’s oldest son Japheth, bearded and weary, struggled to calm the animals and maintain the line. He cursed at the snake.

“So’s your mother,” Crawley shouted--their voice hardly carrying--and disappeared into the wild grass.

“Crawley,” Aziraphale called after them, earning a few strange looks from the humans as he chased the swift-moving serpent. “Pardon me. Dreadfully sorry.”

Japheth groaned. “Sir, you do know what a fence is for, don’t you?”

“Hate to be a bother, yes, but I just need to…”

Crawley poked their head up from the ground cover in time to watch the angel struggle over the branch-born fence. He dropped inelegantly to his knees on the other side, dirtying his bright linen tunic. Crawley rolled their serpentine eyes but waited. It was the least they could do.

When the rumpled being finished ducking and weaving through the animals and was far enough away from the mortals, Crawley shifted back to their preferred form.

They took their time in lifting their golden eyes up the height of the angel and puffed their chest beneath their fitted tunic. Dusty grey wings spread out, defensive against what disagreements may come. “What?”

“It’s dangerous to stay here!”

The demon looked unimpressed. “So don’t.”

“I… have a few miracles to perform on the boat,” Aziraphale demurred. “Several, actually. Something about waste removal?”

He shook off his wandering thoughts and refocused on the patient demon at his sandaled feet.

“In a few hours,” said Aziraphale, “this whole area will be underwater for hundreds of miles. Even the tallest tree won’t be enough. You’ll drown, Crawley.”

So they’d putter around until Accounts put in for repairs on their corporation. Given all the years they’d been running around Earth, it was a frank shock they hadn’t yet spent any of it slogging through the waiting halls. What were a few decades of boredom and tight squalid work conditions?

A demon could come back, but the humans?

“Where’s all that angelic caring for them?”

Aziraphale dropped to crouched then, looking for all intents and purposes as though the demon had flown up and slapped him. Hard. “I… I can’t interfere.”

Crawley swayed out of habit as they stared, unyielding, holding the gaze of the much larger being with ease. “How do you know you’re not supposed to?”

Aziraphale blinked several times, staring down the middle space between the two of them. He worried at his ring, twisting it over and over. Mouth shut, lips drawn thin, whatever part of his brain had tried to open suddenly was very pointedly and firmly shuttered.

“No, of course not. That’d be questioning.” Crawley sighed, long-suffering but opting for mercy. They waved off Aziraphale. “Go catch your boat. Don’t want you in trouble on my account, understand?”

Crawley turned toward the lush forest, where they could nap until the waters swept them away. The first drops of rain fell heavy on their wings but heavier still was their heart.

“Have a nice flood, angel.”


	2. Chapter 2

It had only been raining for a half an hour when Crawley heard the strange thunder from behind, rumbling closer. When the noise didn’t stop, and indeed drew ever nearer, the little demon knew they had made a terrible miscalculation. Panicked wings flapped for any lift as they dashed for the nearest date palm tree to cling to.

In a flash of mottled grey and white, one of the unicorns galloped past. Her hooves clapped against the storm-soaked dirt path, worn in by years of forest creatures making their way to the stream up ahead or the grazing field behind.

She had come so close to Crawley that the wind of her passage threw them off balance. The demon clung to a reed stalk, spinning about face, before they lost their grip and landed solidly on their arse.

As the mud soaked their tunic, Crawley growled out, “Hey, you dizzy ungulate! Boat’s back that way!”

The unicorn, with her mane flower-braided and her dark violet eyes wide enough to show the whites, dug her spiraling horn wildly at the ground near the stream. Like a very bad itch she couldn’t quite reach. More importantly, however, she was completely ignoring Crawley.

A few attempts at standing later, the demon was up off the increasingly damp ground. They batted away the soil and plant matter from their soaking clothes--a symbolic gesture at best--then stomped over to the stream.

They kept a healthy distance from the beast and called up, “Whatever shiny rock you think you need after all this, I can promise, you won’t.”

The unicorn let forth a distressed nicker, telling the demon more than a human might have picked up, with their limited vocabularies and language skills. It wasn’t good news.

“Ticket?” Crawley sneered, uncertain. “Bloody serious? What, did you all have them?”

Another gruff noise was the answer, coupled with more frantic pawing at the soft bank of the rain-dappled stream.

Crawley scuttled out of the way. The mare was easily seven, maybe eight times their height and looked to be solid, rippling muscle. One stamp of a hoof to the demon’s body and they’d have a lot worse to worry about than some dirty clothes.

A corporation drowning was one thing. Trampled and drowned was entirely another. Oh, Satan, the paperwork alone!

“Well…” Crawley said as they continued to back away from the chaos of the unicorn’s search. The stream was the last place she remembered having it, when her and her companion stopped to drink. “What did it look like? I can help.”

The unicorn snuffed at them rudely.

“That’s a malicious rumor. Bet you’ve never met another demon!” Crawley clambered up a convenient bohea shrub, long limbs wrapped tight against lush leaves as the branches bowed with their weight. “How’d you like it if I said all unicorns were obsessed with… devouring virgins?”

She snickered and tossed her head back.

The demon frowned, growing serious. “This storm isn’t stopping for anyone. Let me help.”

The unicorn stomped, remembering her distress. She cast a mournful glance up and down the swelling stream.

“Hmm. Yeah, something that small _might’ve_ washed away.” Crawley did their best not to think about how they were themselves something small that could wash away. “I’m curious. D’you ask if the ticket was really needed? I mean, it’s not like there’s a third unicorn who trotted up, said they got the invite, too. Is there?”

That, Crawley realised when the mare’s frenzy deepened, was the opposite of helpful.

“Hey, hey! It’s fine. Look, I know a guy, erm-nn, well, sort of a guy. Anyway! I bet he’d get you in. How’s about you and I head back together? There were two of you, weren’t there? Your _friend’s_ probably worried.”

The unicorn whinnied, crying out for her friend with an icy fear. She headed upstream, oblivious of the demon calling for her.

“Hold on.” Crawley jumped from the sheltering embrace of the bohea branches, wings open to temper their fall.

Ahead of them, the unicorn finally noticed the direction of the rushing water and veered back, barrelling past Crawley to search for the lost ticket downstream.

“Wait!”

But she was already off, a bright silhouette fading into the rainshadow forest.

“What did I sssay?” Crawley’s heart ached as they thought about the unicorn facing the rising waters. They knew she hadn’t done anything to deserve what lay ahead. They shook their head, damp curls clinging to their skin as they peered up into the sky, one hand raised to shield their eyes from the pelting droplets. “She’s only trying to do the right thing, You know. Just following Your rules.”

She reminded the demon very much of someone else they knew.

Crawley shivered as they trudged through the mud and the undergrowth, back on target to find a nice tall tree to delay the inevitable. When lightning flickered across the bruiseblack sky, Crawley startled. With their shoulders hunching up near their ears, they weren’t watching their step. One miraculously-sized sandal caught on the edge of a flat stone, stutter-stepping them across it.

“Ow! Fuck! Hell!”

Crawley grabbed their throbbing toes and hobbled backward.

They gritted their teeth through the pain. They spared a miracle to relocate one long phalange, taking a deep breath to calm down. When they could stand on both legs again, they shot a glare at the offending rock to wish it a quick erosion.

“Hold up…”

Crawley bent to pick it up, noting the unnatural smoothness, the slight polish to it. The rock was not a rock at all. It was more of a metal chip than a stone but not quite a coin. The demon lifted it with both hands, finding it bigger than their whole head but beaten thin enough that even someone as small as them would have no trouble carrying it.

Then they saw a perfectly punched circle, just big enough for a thread to wind through. Something that could easily turn the piece into a charm for a necklace.

_Would make it very easy for those without hands to carry it as well, wouldn’t it…_

Crawley focused their awareness on the chip, skimming across it until they felt a very holy presence indeed.

Gravely, they said, “The ticket.”

It was no use chasing after the unicorn. Crawley couldn’t outpace a horse on a casual stroll let alone one of their swift cousins in a panic in the middle of a thunderstorm. A big boat in the middle of a field, though, that wasn’t going anywhere yet.

The waters surged. No time to second-guess.

Holding tight the metal chit, Crawley ran. The path back was already obscured and, as close to the ground as they were, it was only by virtue of their particularly fine night vision that the demon did not end up adrift wandering beneath the soaring date palms.

Far out in the middle of the plains, they saw the outline of the boat, taller than any building Crawley had ever been inside. A flash of lightning in the clouds a fair distance beyond illuminated the land, a gentle warning without the zigzagging trail.

They sprinted across the plain. Heart pounding, lungs burning. The rain slapped at their face and wings, rebuking their mission.

A blade of grass, felled by the weather, slipped beneath Crawley’s feet. They lurched, skittering across the vegetation. Plant stems bent and split against the force of their wings snapping open on instinct, slowing the clumsy spiral.

The demon winced as they regained control, taking quick stock of their limbs. Everything still attached? Yes. A few unhappy feathers and they’d definitely strained a muscle in their thigh when they slipped. They’d likely be sore across the chest later, too.

The boat wasn’t far.

In the doorway atop the still-assembled ramp, a figure watched and waited under the eave, a nervous rigidity to the spine. As soon as Crawley was certain, they called, “Aziraphale! Aziraphale, I need you!”

The figure perked up, alert. “Crawley?”

They watched as the angel scanned for the voice carried to him on the wind. When he spotted motion in the weather-beaten field, he took off without hesitation.

“Aziraphale,” Crawley wheezed, clutching the chip to their chest as they hobble-ran to meet him.

“Oh, you poor dear. You’re half drowned already!” Aziraphale knelt and scooped the little demon into the bell of his sleeve. “Let’s get you inside.”

Without argument, Crawley collapsed into the comfortable sling the sleeve formed around them. Worn out as much by their accident as by running all the way from the stream, they could have otherwise succumbed to the siren song of soft dry linen and the soothing murmur of Aziraphale’s voice.

“No! Wait!” They wriggled to the edge of the fabric, poking out their head and getting a face full of misty rain for their efforts. “Ack-ggh.”

“Almost there and then we’ll get you dried and-”

“Aziraphale, please! It’s the unicorn!”

That caught his attention. “Unicorn? H-he’s already on board.”

“No, the other one. Her ticket, angel! She lost her ticket. But I found it.”

Aziraphale hurried up the ramp and into the shelter of Noah’s boat. The rain drummed against the wooden boards, _Little pig, little pig. Let me in._

Delicately, Aziraphale opened his sleeve.

All haggard and soppy, Crawley slid out onto the top of a lashed-in grain-sack. Not quite able to find their footing, they released the chit and kept to their knees to beg the holier being. “Please, please-”

“Crawley-”

“You _have_ to get to her! She’ll miss the boat-”

“Crawley, it’s too late.”

“-and then she won’t be with her friend!”

“The waters are rising too quickly.”

“Please, _please_ , angel, please!” Crawley pounded their fists in frustration against the grain.

Aziraphale took a cautious step away.

Crawley squeezed their dark wings to their body, keenly aware of how angry they seemed. They weren’t angry. They were… They _felt_ powerless. What few demonic miracles they might spare, there was hardly an excuse to give if word got out they’d used Hell’s power to save the life of, well, anything.

The world was about to change in a huge way and they wanted to do one good act against a rising sea of horror. They’d never been able to set anything to rights before, not when it mattered. The world they knew was one of reaction. Of asking forgiveness rather than permission. Of receiving neither.

As they shook with grief, the metal chit forgotten beside them glinted in the lamplight. Crawley snatched it up, greedily. They lifted the chip like an offering, watery yellow eyes pleading with the angel.

“She doesn't know it’s here for her.”

Aziraphale carefully plucked the piece from Crawley’s outstretched hands. He examined it for only a moment and found what the demon had, profound loss creasing his brow. Gloomily, he returned the ticket.

“I’m sorry, Crawley. It must be part of-”

“Oh, part of the Great Plan, is it?” The demon leered and left open space for their acquaintance to firmly plant a foot in his mouth, were he so inclined.

“I…”

Aziraphale conceded. He sat beside the small demon, head bowed.

“Even if I could call on my wings here--which I can’t, and I don’t understand how you demons keep doing it,” he said, sighing, “I still doubt I could fly in this weather. There’s simply no way to reach her in this rain.”

Much as they didn’t want to admit it--that they’d come all this way risking life and limb for nothing--Crawley took a serious look into the pouring rain and knew they’d hung their hopes too high. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault. It was just a tall order.

Tension blossomed across their skull. They screwed their eyes shut.

 _If only I’d seen the chit sooner,_ thought Crawley, _or tried to convince her harder._ They wondered if they could have used their powers, somehow stop it all for a few seconds, long enough for them to get over to her and hitch a ride. They’d have been together out there then. She didn’t have to be alone like she was. Scared. Cold. Lost.

A rustling sound drew Crawley from their self-flagellation: Aziraphale was wringing his hands together. His thumb and forefinger paid particular attention to his golden ring. In Crawley’s experience, he only did that when confronting dangerous paths like earlier that afternoon.

Crawley sniffled, drawing one black sleeve across their face. “You want to say something?”

Instead of seeming incriminated, Aziraphale lit up. “I was thinking, if you like, that you might stay aboard? Wouldn’t be a bother at all. Plenty of room. Truthfully, I would love the company.” Then he corrected, “ _Yours._ Your company. I would love _your_ company.”

The demon’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Nn-nn-uh, naw. Couldn’t. D-don’t have a ticket for starters.”

“It seems to me that,” Aziraphale said sotto voce, “you do.”

Both looked to the chit then each other.

Crawley floundered over their words. “What? No! It’s not mine. That wouldn’t be right.”

“Well.” Aziraphale considered. “They don’t have the right number of demons in here.”

“Wait, is there someone else here?” Crawley stood on the grain-sack, prepared to go searching. “I swear to Satan, if it’s Pharzuph trying to sink their claws into-”

“Oh no! No. There’s only you. _Here_ . Only you here.” Aziraphale put out a hand to stop the demon from climbing down and wandering off. “I meant that _I_ am an angel. And _you_ are a demon. It’s like we’re a… a matched pair in a way. Wouldn’t you agree?”

A time long ago, the two of them might have made an even more appropriate set. They’d both started out as creatures of divine love, perfect in the eyes of the Almighty.

But Crawley was Fallen.

The demon recoiled at the memory, shuttering it away with all the other bad thoughts they didn’t want to look at too hard right then--or ever.

“So you… think they’d need me?” Crawley said, “Wherever you’re going?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I know I would be very sad to leave you behind.”

“Mm-maybe then.” The demon fidgeted. “I want to wait. In case she comes back. Can we?”

“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale gestured toward a shuttered, square window. “We can watch from inside.”

And so they waited and they watched, Aziraphale never leaving. The darkness descended faster as the cloud-hidden sun dipped lower to the horizon.

Every time the sky flashed, a foreboding clutched at Crawley. The humans had taken to saying Lucifer fell on lightning and, while it wasn’t true exactly, the image rooted deep enough to be unpleasant. They were pleased Aziraphale stayed by their side.

From deep below, past sturdy cypress and cedar slats, the various grunts and chitters and squawks of the gathered animals played a worried tune to accompany the encroaching evening.

“So, um…” Crawley swallowed their unease. “Where’s the zoo traveling?”

“The mountains of Ararat, they say.”

Crawley nodded as if they’d heard of the place before. “Is it a long trip?”

“Oh, yes. Days and days, I should think. And when it’s all over, they say the Almighty will put up something called a _rain-bow_. All the colors,” Aziraphale said, moving his hands to sketch an arc above them and stoke the little demon’s imagination. “Just so. As a… promise not to drown everyone again.”

He sounded about as certain of that promise as Crawley felt.

As they wrung the water from their long red hair, Crawley grouched, “I am completely over rain. Overrated, if you ask me. But I… I hope the unicorn makes it back. I think she’d like to see the colors with her friend.”

“I hope so, too.”

More than an hour slipped between them, punctuated here and there by the shouts of the men and women on the deck above as they prepared the last of the animals and readied themselves for launch. Which would have been significantly easier to plan for if they weren’t waiting on the literal Act of God building outside.

Through the human noises and the animal noises, Crawley noticed something ratcheting up in their companion. Not quite discomfort or anxiety. More like he kept thinking about if he’d left the gas on. Which, naturally, he hadn’t. One, he could snap his fingers and have peace of mind. Two, it was about five thousand years too early to start worrying about that particular problem, which was a bit much even by Aziraphale’s standards.

Was it about Noah or his family finding them there together? No, Crawley hadn’t seen him looking over his shoulder ever. He stayed observing the outside while sneaking in second and third glances at Crawley.

Was it about the unicorn then? He had seemed moved by Crawley’s entreaty, yes, but it wasn’t the same as how the demon felt themself. Not personal enough for the jittery aura coming off of him.

Perhaps he wanted to shut the entryway. The waters weren’t so deep yet; the first deck would barely have flooded. All the same, at a guess by how much of the ramp had disappeared, Crawley wouldn’t have been able to stay standing in it.

A unicorn could wade it with ease.

Aziraphale pat the thick edge of the window beside Crawley. He was a bit too chipper as he said, “How rude of me! I haven’t shown you where you can stay.”

Crawley arched their thick eyebrows.

“Come along then. There’s a remarkably clear space here on the supply deck that we can share.”

 _We?_ Crawley nearly choked on the wishful fancy of it but caught their swimming head when Aziraphale turned away from the window. “Five more minutes, Aziraphale,” they called. “Please?”

The angel paused midstride. His voice wavered. “I suppose five more couldn’t hurt.”

Crawley nodded and laid down on the sill, resting their head on their arms, eyes fixed on the shadows of the forest.

They wondered how far down the stream went. And when the unicorn would give up chasing after nothing.

If they thought in her direction hard enough, would she somehow hear it?

 _Come back,_ Crawley tried. _Come back. I have it._

_Come back._

“Crawley, it’s been five minutes,” said the angel when the time had passed, words unbearably soft. “The waters are starting to get very dangerous. I should unlash the ramp soon.”

“Five more minutes. _Please._ What if she makes it at the end, and the ramp floated away?”

Aziraphale cringed. “Y-yes. That’s true. But in that case, I could still show you to where we’ll stay. Get you settled in.”

“It’s not like I brought a five-piece luggage set, angel.” Crawley gave a playful glare. “Besides, if we’re both away, what if she doesn’t have the courage to come ask for passage?”

“Yes. That is… also… true.” He took a long, deep breath.

Some patience had broken within him. Crawley’s stomach heaved in a way that had nothing to do with the water lapping at the bottom of the bitumen-coated ark.

“Are you trying to get rid of me? Because I told you I didn’t need to stay. I can go.” Though admittedly, dry and relatively warm as they were, the idea of diving out to their inevitable inconvenient discorporation had lost its charm.

Luckily, Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer and shook his head. “That isn’t- No- I don’t want that.”

The demon stood and leaned against the frame of the window, careful of a tender spot on their wings from their misadventure nearly inventing the slip-n-slide. With arms folded across their stomach, Crawley could finally observe each shuffling motion of the larger being, the nervous twitch at the corner of his lips, the hands fluttering as if to catch and cage his ideas.

“Aziraphale, what are you up to?”

“Up to?” he yelped. “Why would you think an a-angel of the Lord would be _up to_ anything?”

Crawley nodded toward the ring Aziraphale spun back and forth on his finger. “Because I know you. And you most certainly are not just _any_ angel of the Lord. Fess up. Go on. Out with it. You’ll feel better.”

Truly, Aziraphale believed them, if the doe-eyed stare was anything to go by with those blue-green eyes as wet and dark as the rising tides.

“It’s silly of me, really. I don’t know how long I could have kept them from you, nor why I feel so initially inclined to reticence.” Aziraphale tittered, edging on delirious before he reined himself in. “Habit, I suppose.”

“Them?” Crawley pressed.

“Yes. You’ll want to keep off the ground for a bit, I imagine.” Aziraphale gestured to his shoulder and Crawley took the invitation. They shifted and slithered up with a healthy reluctance, clinging to his exposed neck for both safety and warmth from the storm.

The angel rose and gathered down the pinched bowl oil lamp, its single wick burning steadily despite the draft.

“That would be them,” Aziraphale said as he stood in the doorway, pointing across the plain in the direction of the local village. He gave a twist of his wrist, dragging down a miracle. The lamplight glowed brighter.

Guiding.

When they finally saw a small group wading toward them, fighting against the winds and clinging to each other, Crawley gawked.

“Those are children!”

“Those few I could speak to before I was needed here,” said Aziraphale. He waved to the group, encouraging them onward. His whole demeanor cried out that he was there to welcome them. They were safe with him.

Crawley held their breath as an ache rippled down their scaly body. Their heart swelled too full with something _warm_ and _strange_ , something deeply _familiar_ yet entirely _new_.

To their wonderment, this strange-familiar warm-newness was directed wholly at the angel beneath their coils, shepherding the children he would defy God to protect.


	3. Chapter 3

“Careful. Quietly now. Inside, there we go,” said Aziraphale as he helped the last child up the ramp when she stumbled. “I know. That was awful. I’m so proud of you. You’re doing splendidly, all of you.”

Crawley slithered on their companion from one shoulder to the next, appraising the new arrivals. Debris clung to wool wrap skirts and fringed shawls, to sun-kissed skin and rain-heavy hair. Their eyes were rimmed red from crying. Tied to their waists, each carried only a small precious bundle from their homes.

Like the demon who had climbed aboard before them, they’d all seen better days.

Marvelling, the snake whispered to the angel, “You’re saving children.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said tightly.

Crawley’s mind reeled, uncomprehending. They tried again. “You are going against Heaven’s orders and _saving children_.”

Aziraphale pushed their palm over the narrow black-scaled face. “ _Please._ Not so loud.”

The demon reared away, creeping across Aziraphale’s back and causing the angel to shiver.

There weren’t a lot of the young humans but, at Crawley’s count, they were still twice as many as God’s chosen elite. The oldest, twin girls by the looks of them, perhaps thirteen. The youngest, a boy, maybe eight. And though the children huddled together, scared, Crawley felt a palpable strength among them. An understanding that this was a mission greater than the frightening vastness of their unknown future and condemned past.

While the children wrung the water from their hair and helped each other pick the sticks and leaves from their clothes, Crawley turned their attention back to the angel.

“Smuggling anything else on board I should know about?”

Aziraphale’s lips, nervous lined, twitched at the corners. “They’re only as many as I thought I could hide.”

“Right.”

Unspoken, the question of how conservative or not that estimation.

Aziraphale’s doubt ducked out of sight when speaking with the children, his tone changing costume into gentle confidence. He thanked them for trusting him. He praised them for their bravery.

Angel hands wiped tears from the cheeks of the children and Crawley threaded their tail against the hem of the robe to prevent falling completely off. Had they seen the worship laid bare in their traitor yellow eyes, they could only have been more mortified if they’d been in their more expressive form.

“I know it was so hard for you to leave your home, your families,” Aziraphale said. “And I’m afraid there’s more hardship ahead. But you will help each other, as will I. We’ll see it to the other side, yes?”

A boy, not quite so young, looked between Aziraphale and the star-struck creature on his shoulder, skeptical. “That was not with you before.”

Aziraphale turned to the snake. “Would you like to introduce yourself, my friend, or shall I?”

An introduction? Crawley snapped out of their reverie. They pondered the deeper meaning of the question. Days and days their trip would be, Aziraphale had said.

“Yes, well then,” they said with a hiss.

The demon slipped over to a support beam and wrapped around a bit of rope, dodging the unlit lanterns hung there. Many of the children watched their movements with rapt attention.

With a thought, their shape changed. No longer was there a thin black and red snake draped overhead but instead a miniature human-shaped being sitting on the rope like a swing. They were a skinny freckled little thing clad in loose black robes, with hellfire hair cascading over their shoulders slightly frizzed from the damp. Only the snake eyes remained unchanged.

They turned their face to each child, partly to expose the yellow warning of their eyes and partly to see if any of the kids recognized them. But they didn’t. All of their fellow mischief-makers were elsewhere, soon to be lost.

Crawley steeled their stomach to the thought. They sat up straight--they were tall for a demon, though they knew others even taller--and spread their dark grey wings to impress upon the children that _they_ were no angel.

It didn’t have the effect Crawley had hoped. Not that they were trying to scare anyone. Heaven and Hell both knew they’d all had enough of that and plenty more to come. But would some awe have been too much to ask for?

Instead, several of the older ones actually smiled. The child who had pointed out Crawley reached up to touch their wings.

The demon flinched when they felt a finger brush one long primary. They stood to get away. “Oi! None of that!”

They leapt from the rope, spread-wing, to dip through the air. An ache flared across their chest and they adjusted their path too soon. The wooden crate they landed on gave a jolt with their slight weight off-kilter, the ceramic jars clinking within. They recovered quickly, ego demanding.

“That’s just rude,” Crawley sneered and glanced up to Aziraphale. “You gotta instill some manners in these ones, angel.”

“Were you planning to have them guess your name, dear, or will you simply strut about all evening like a peafowl?”

Crawley scoffed. They heard a giggle from one of the children. While it would have been easy to fall into a banter with the heavenly being--and suddenly they were curious if there were any peafowl on board--the hint of laughter among all the stress and strain of the day was a balm.

So they huffed, formed a wince of a smile, and said, “Crawley.”

They left off any titles that might give away their less savory history, lest those children knew of the insidious serpent who doomed them all with its lies. Kids were frightened enough, the demon figured.

Children stepped up and freely gave their names as well. This was Pirhum, that one Duššuptum, and there Ammī. The twins were Kuzu-Batum and Babātum. And the youngest Adamu.

“And he is our cousin,” said Babātum, pointing to another boy who seemed close to her age, “but he’s shy.”

By the end of the introductions, Crawley had met nearly all of Aziraphale’s flock and learned about who was related to who and even what occupied some of their parents--Šuruppagite scribes and temple door-keeps, couriers and lament cantors, and even a date-palm gardener among them, none surprising to the demon. Those children who hung back had watched, wary of Crawley, but relaxed by the normalcy of the conversation. The serpent guessed the chattier ones were more familiar with Aziraphale from the city.

“All right, children,” said the angel when they began to descend into excited chatter, voices rising. “We’re getting a smidge too loud.”

He set a finger over his lips and gestured towards the center of the structure, where a thin strip cut clear through to allow sunlight--when there was sunlight--with railings all around and stairs connecting the three levels.

A hush descended but those twenty-eight brightly colored eyes had been magic-sparked and that would not dissipate so readily. They were living through mythmaking storystuffs. Which, thanks to the angel, had an actual shot at existing in their future. Some evening, far from then, young parents would weave a fantastic tapestry to swaddle over their children of how their people survived Heaven’s wrath with the help of two very different supernatural godparents.

Crawley sat bemusedly listening to the hushed conversations when Aziraphale leaned against their crate, crouching to conduct a clandestine exchange of his own.

“I need to get them situated,” he said, “and then untether the ramp.” The angel cast a meaningful look out into the worsening storm.

Yes, Crawley understood: it was time to let the unicorn go.

They grimaced but nodded their assent. “You don’t need my help on that, yeah?”

Aziraphale said, “I have it in hand if you can stand guard?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

Crawley jumped from the crate and drifted carefully toward the hatch. A soft chorus of farewells followed as the angel herded the children like so many ducklings into the dark of the ship.

“You’ll see them again,” Aziraphale assured his charges. The somber gaze he cast at the demon asked more than he could chance from his tongue.

“Be right here. Promissse.” Crawley waved him on, affecting impatience. They stayed vigilant until the group dissolved into the shadowy hall.

The sound of thunder behind the demon cracked with demand. Their heart squeezed tight beneath their ribs, frightened bird of a thing.

It felt strange to turn back to the alluvial plain, floodwaters risen too deep. Crawley worried at their lip, torn between the brace of hope for the scared mare’s return and the impending reality each passing minute had dragged before them as irrefutable evidence of her forfeit.

Everything had been going well for the humans, they’d thought. If a demon felt the world was nice and the people clever perhaps that had been the Almighty’s issue.

How funny then that They had taken the winemaker as Their chosen champion, the city locals questioning Noah’s faith and direction in equal measure. Heeding not his warnings, laughing at the doomsaying as his family traded their professions for shipbuilders.

Crawley glared heavenward. “That’s rigging the deck, innit?”

No thunder, no lightning strike. The wind howled on.

“Mmyeah. _Unfair_ has always been the game. Old age is making You predictable.” Crawley waggled an accusing finger at the sky. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

In a certain light, Crawley could have seen the elegance of the plan. Since stealing the starters from Eden, they had gardened. They planted as much of earthly matter where they roamed as they did of questions and curiosity. One must till the soil for new life to grow, must uproot those shoots gone to seed. But those were foodstuffs, meant to be _given_ life to _sustain_ life, praised and harvested, trained up better with each generation when the demon was permitted long in any area.

But there was a canyon of difference between weeding out a flowering carrot and drowning a valley of people and animals.

Feeling exposed in the doorway as the gusts snatched and teased at their clothes, they hid behind their long-feathered wings. Crawley sat and dragged their too sharp knees up close, one hand idly rubbing along the tender muscle of their thigh.

Though it pained them to finally write off the unicorn, there _was_ something else to hang hope upon.

Over the sounds of the water rushing against the ark, Crawley tuned into the movement of the angel and the children, wondering what far corner he was stocking them away into, and how they’d both manage to hide them from the other humans. Whatever he needed, Crawley was determined not to fail. They could use Hell’s power for that. Very demonic, keeping alive children that the Lord hadn’t authorized. Be a real feather in their wing. Yes, they could justify anything the angel needed. No one could come looking for them during the trip, so they’d just expense everything out afterward.

“All stowed away?” Crawley asked as Aziraphale approached some minutes later.

He stood in the doorway, looming tall over the demon. “Safe as can be, given the circumstances. You look a fright, though.”

“M’all right.” Though every crack of lightning made them flinch.

“It’s time then.”

Crawley turned away, closed to the motions of the angel as he unmoored the ramp from the ark. They were less successful in shutting out the memory of violet eyes in the rain darkened forest and flower stems braided through silver hair.

_Show her mercy, please._


	4. Chapter 4

_Show her mercy, please._

A familiar sound cut through the thunder, notes unheard by mortal ears. For a moment, Crawley froze. Had they instinctively called on the powers of Hell to fulfill their wish? How would they explain that one?

But the miracle was only Aziraphale as he battened the hatches, taking the storm-sounds with. He had doused the oil lamps as well, leaving one to guide his footfalls.

“Nothing will get in that isn’t meant to,” said Aziraphale as he checked his work. Water droplets clung to his white gold curls, reflecting in the dim light like stars. “Yes, that will hold. Shall we then?”

“Shall we what?”

“I’ve set up a room for myself. I plan to retire there until further miraculous acts are needed. Nothing to be done until morning at this point.”

“Waste management.” Crawley snickered with understanding.

“I suspect you could do with some rest. Safer than roaming the lower decks. Or, frankly, the upper one. Don’t want the family taking notice of you.”

“I could stay a snake.”

“Either way,” Aziraphale snipped, “I’d prefer to know you were not trampled underfoot.”

“Pfft. You think I haven’t navigated humans? Their streets aren’t nearly as crowded as the halls Downstairs. Or d’you imagine me a hermit, sleeping in hollowed out trees all these years?”

Aziraphale leveled his gaze down at the demon.

Ah. They were being unduly argumentative.

“It’s not you,” Crawley offered, the closest they could get to an apology. Demons didn’t say sorry, after all. They didn’t say thank you. They didn’t do Good. And they definitely didn’t get upset about one guiltless unicorn left out in the cold.

Demons probably didn’t spend as much time with heavenly soldiers either. Not without ending up a scorched smear on the nearest wall. If Aziraphale hadn’t yet...

“Rest. Yeah, sounds nice, angel,” they said and stood. Which was a mistake.

Crawley stumbled, wincing from a sudden twinge in their leg. They caught themself on the nearest post, heard a gasp of concern overhead. Then a warm hand hovered against their taut wings, brushing against the mantle of ashen feathers and the coverts, too.

“I’ll be fine. Sat too long. Stiffened up.”

“I would be happy to carry you.”

“You do that enough, don’t you think?” Crawley stepped quickly from the hand at their back and hissed at the formal complaint issued from their thigh.

“You’re very clearly in pain. What did you do to yourself?”

“Eh. Twisted my knee, maybe. Just a spot that isn’t happy. Corporeal bodies, right?” Crawley forced a laugh. “Not the best creation, if you ask me. Always something grumbling. Stomachs and backs and… What?”

The angel was looking at them with, oh Satan, was that pity?

Aziraphale spoke softly when he said, “In a thousand years, I can’t recall hurting my _earthly_ form even once.”

“Well,” Crawley sang, “bully for you.”

“I… Nevermind. No doubt Hell equipped you with the perfect model for your assignment here.”

If perfect models came with faulty flight and shoddy gliding capabilities, endlessly cranky joints, and unhelpful spines, Crawley would eat their hat. If they had a hat. They made a mental note to get a hat in the future for when they needed to make a point.

With a put-upon sigh, Crawley surrendered. “Fine. Open your sleeve, though. I’ll not be toted about in your arms like some doll.”

Happily, Aziraphale crouched down and complied, offering the sling of his sleeve to Crawley. They sat, comfortably dangling their legs from the taut edge.

“Could you… The, you know, the ticket? I left it on the grains.”

Aziraphale retrieved it, tucking the beaten metal chip into his sleeve beside Crawley before lifting the lone lit oil lamp. The demon held the treasure securely as they made the short journey to Aziraphale’s room, which turned out to be a nook with a woven blanket hung across the entrance. There were many more blankets inside, less luxurious than the fine earthy linen by too many than were reasonable for an angel and a demon alone. Crawley saw undyed throws of thick pounded felt piled high on the floor and stored neatly on shelves. For the animals, yes, when the nights got cold.

“I know it isn’t much,” Aziraphale said as he helped Crawley from his transport, “but it’s out of the way.”

“I am no king, Aziraphale. Besides, it’s a lot dryer than my previous travel plans,” the demon quipped. They didn’t say that what mattered was that the room was clean, with nothing of hellish rot or ruin. They liked that it was secluded, that the two of them could be alone there. Undiscovered.

Crawley toed off their sandals and climbed the nearest pile of wiry goat hair blankets, breathing in the washed scent. A luxuriously high spot called to them and, gingerly, they stretched their lean body across it.

“The children are a bit further down,” Aziraphale said as he hung the oil lamp overhead, casting a warm glow to the cozy space. He settled on the floor beside the blanket pile. “Before you showed up, I’d stacked a row of crates--three high--against an inner wall. It’s not a large area either but it is partitioned from the storage.”

Crawley imagined Pirhum telling stories through the night with Adamu and Ammī close to his side.

“You did right by them.” They reached a foot over to the side of Aziraphale’s arm, the part of the angel most easily accessible with the least movement on their part. They attempted to reassure their companion with the touch but mostly managed to kick at him. Satan, they were bone tired.

Aziraphale carefully patted the demon’s foot and continued recounting their day, making sense of the absurd. “It cost a miracle, but they won’t be falling over. Noah and his sons won’t go looking too closely, either.”

Humans were not really the angel’s concern.

“What will Heaven do,” Crawley mused, “if they find out? About all this?”

“Hardly any of them like the Earth project. It’s unlikely they’d reassign my rank again.” He cast a glance to the boards above, as if searching for the answer.

Urgently, Crawley sat up on their elbows. The idea of Aziraphale being demoted away from them--from Earth, of course, not from them--made their fatigue unimportant.

“What if they try? Angel, what if they want you at a desk after this?” Crawley’s throat stuck on _Would you tell me_ and _How would I find you_.

“Frankly, if they think they can rip me away from… _here_ ,” Aziraphale said, a steely edge in his voice, “they can take a flying leap for all I care.”

Under the mortal flame, Aziraphale was still a picture of divine radiance. His strong shoulders thrown back, his face upturned, the soft curve of his jaw set in stone. Crawley sucked in a breath at the sight. Their cheeks burned.

_Holy fuck._

Could the angel hear their heart beating like a kettle drum? Pitter-patter, pitter-pat. They had the most irrational desire to climb into the rafters to hide.

That absolutely was not love they felt. _That_ was not the thing swirling in their blood. Surely. Hadn’t that accursed state been ripped out, tossed unthinking into the sulfur pools, boiled and battered and eaten alive?

Demons did not feel love.

_How did he… How did…_

It had to be something else.

“A reprimand, I’m sure,” Aziraphale said, the flames of his righteous indignation short-lived, smothered over with mourning.

Crawley swallowed. They could never tell him. A demon? _Feeling_ for him? The very suggestion might disgust him. Or be used against the angel! No. They wouldn’t allow anyone to use whatever it was they felt to hurt Aziraphale. They could keep it to themself. They could keep everything under control.

“A… Yeah. Reprimand probably.”

“It isn’t as though I saved a town,” he said. “But these children, they’ll survive. It wasn’t much. In the grand scheme of the universe.”

“Angel, that’s… that’s so much! What are you-”

“There were so many,” he cried, turning to fully face Crawley. “How did I choose?”

“It’s not like you put out for resumés. You acted. That was the choice.” Crawley imagined one of the other angels holding a job fair. _Interns Wanted: God’s Epic Tantrum Survivors. Entry level. Must have two years experience and be available all shifts._

They flopped back onto the blanket, wings tucked close and arms cushioning their head. But the movement jolted their leg, sending Crawley clutching at the offending muscle, gritting their teeth.

“Have you tried to deal with that?”

“Collapsing for the duration seemed in order,” said Crawley glibly.

Judging by his immediate scowl, Aziraphale didn’t like that answer. “I could… try something I’ve seen.”

“Have at.” Crawley waved him on and shut their eyes, prepared for Azirapale’s potentially literal magic remedy.

Then a pair of fingers were on their body, steadily mapping the long lines of their leg, smoothing the muscle beneath their robe from hip to knee with delicate pressure.

Crawley blushed at the obscene moan that flew from their throat. They covered their mouth as they asked through their fingers, “What are you doing?”

“Does it hurt? It’s a touch practice I saw when I was stationed in the Indus Valley.”

“Nn-it-yes-but… Feels nice. I think?”

“That was the hope. It seemed to do wonders for the laborers when they were tired and sore. Let me know if I get too rough. I’m not certain how much demons can take.”

“More’n you’d expect,” they mumbled, eyes drifting shut once more as Aziraphale dragged more of those mortifying noises from Crawley. _Under control, yeah._

Aziraphale worked the earthly miracle into Crawley’s body, every brush of his fingertips exceedingly careful, tenderly adjusting with the slightest motion of discomfort. When he’d found the perfect tempo--one that kept the little demon ductile but still murmuring nonsense syllables--Aziraphale spoke. “You know, after the last time I interfered, I didn’t think I could ever do it again.”

Crawley hummed.

“But,” Aziraphale said, “ _you_ were right.”

“Me?”

“How did I know I was not meant to interfere. I didn’t know. I don’t.”

“Y-you wouldn’t have done this without…? That’s…”

Crawley cut off with a gasp as Aziraphale’s two fingers reached a spot high near their hip that was particularly cross. It wasn’t so much they needed to stop the angel’s ministrations, but they arched their back, trapping their breath to wait out the discordant sensation.

“Tempted you to,” Crawley said when they could think again. “What if it was Evil?”

“Saving children evil? I won’t hear it.”

The demon whimpered and it had nothing to do with the pleasant touch.

“Please, I assure you that I’m not bothered but,” Aziraphale began, “I often find myself pondering exactly how it is you’re able to remind me of who and what I’m meant to be. You always bring out the best in me.”

Crawley draped an arm across their eyes, hiding as they melted under the praise.

_Oh yes. Absolutely under control._

With a silly grin on their face, Crawley peeked out from under their black sleeve. “When you were talking with the kids, you called me your friend.”

Absently, attention focused on Crawley’s leg, Aziraphale asked, “Did I?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Aziraphale rocked his head from one side to the next, as if weighing nothing more peculiar than a loaf of bread he might purchase. Then he smiled slyly, eyes twinkling. “Yes, I suppose that’s something I would say.”

The demon struggled to reign in their flying heart.

“Hmm.” Crawley nodded, accepting. They were friends.

The boat creaked as the water struggled to lift it. Not yet, it said. Patience.

Crawley knit their brow together. “We’ve never… spent much time together. I mean, cumulatively but not in a row. What if I decide I hate you by the end of this?”

They meant, _What if you hate me?_

“It’s a big boat.”

“W-what if Noah finds the children? What if one of them gets sick?”

There was a too fond look from the angel. “I think that’s what we’re here for.”

“What if… Heaven… asks you? Could tell them I tempted you into it.”

“I couldn’t. I wouldn’t choose to lie about this.”

“Is not a lie. If I’d stayed away, would those kids be onboard?” Crawley reached out to his free hand set not far from their head. “It’s just us here, Aziraphale. Y’can be honest.”

His fingers paused. Then came the smallest shake of the angel’s head, a slow swallow of a knot in his throat.

“You wanted to help,” Crawley said, stretching their arm and wiggling closer until they could touch, skin to skin. “I could see that.”

The angel nodded with regret, eyes downcast.

“Right. So if Heaven asksss, you tell them it was me.” The demon made what they hoped was a wicked face despite their sleepy, relaxed state.

Aziraphale curled onto his side on the pile of blankets. “Dastardly fiend, that serpent of Eden.”

Careful of their leg and the effort Aziraphale had made to help it, Crawley rolled over and mirrored his pose. They stared at the angel before them and said, “Twisted your arm, all right.”

Aziraphale breathed in deeply, a decision forming. “We’ll see. I’m glad you don’t mind if I get cold feet and take your excuse though.”

“You’re brave where it matters. It’s not just the kids, you know, it’s… Well, it’s all the humans. Every one of them’s here because of you.”

“ _And_ you.”

Crawley bristled. “My part’s more like the b-burnt bit at the bottom of the pot. Sure it’s there, but who’d want it?”

“Come now. Without you, they’d have stayed in the garden. Never reaching for more.”

“Never knowing pain. Death,” the demon spat.

“Nor joy.” Aziraphale traced the tips of his fingers down Crawley’s hair, lifting the braid to admire it. He added, “Nor love.”

Crawley made a punched out sound. They turned over, facing away from the angel’s too soft face.

“War and Famine,” the demon recovered, tossing the words over their shoulder. “They weren’t around yet.”

“That’s life, Crawley.” Aziraphale was very close to them then. The heat of his words sank into their freckled skin. “That’s living.”

“If you say so.” But the grievance in their voice didn’t mean much when they scooted back toward their friend to snuggle closer. Though not too close. They wouldn’t be selfish and presume.

As exhaustion and comfort tugged their eyes closed, some part of Crawley couldn’t help but wonder if the Almighty’s idea of fair included trading one set of friends together for another.

When the storm calmed, they would find the mare’s friend on the first deck. They would return her metal ticket, a token of her memory if the stallion wanted it.

Aziraphale circled a protective arm around Crawley as they drifted down to sleep, pulling them against his heart-beating chest.

 _I’ll get everything under control later,_ Crawley told themself. When the rains ended. When they weren’t overwhelmed by the magnitude of Aziraphale’s presence. _Let me have this for now._

_For just a while. Let me…_

As the boat lifted and swayed out onto the waters, Crawley slept through the thunder.

-END PART TWO-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading my weird little AU! <3 <3 <3
> 
> I'm really enjoying writing these smol Crowley (Crawley currently) adventures. And if you enjoy reading them, I'd love to hear from you. (I cannot hide that my excitement for continuing is directly proportional to how much positive reinforcement gets thrown at me lol)
> 
> Ratings in my series will increase up through Explicit over time if I continue.
> 
> Title from Queen's "My Fairy King".


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